


Intertwined Hearts

by lecturience



Category: Naruto
Genre: Cause I Headcanon It, First Kiss, First Time, Flaily Madara, Fluff, Kinda, Loss of Virginity, M/M, One Shot, PWP, Possessiveness, Sex, Trust, With EMOTIONS!, but mostly sex, in a sweet way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:55:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21911800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecturience/pseuds/lecturience
Summary: For Tobirama, Madara was more than willing to be patient. More than willing to take his time, to make Tobirama understand he was genuine, and this was no passing fancy or mere curiosity or shallow lust.Tobirama was worth it.Still… three months of dating was anawfullong time to wait for a kiss.
Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 39
Kudos: 775





	Intertwined Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> So after two years of inactivity, I have actually posted something new. Because I woke up this morning with an inescapable need to write explicit MadaTobi fic. And a whole goddamned story poured out in a single sitting. So, um…
> 
> Merry (almost) Christmas! Have some porn!
> 
> This is set in an AU where Izuna lives. And Madara realises that hey, Tobirama’s pretty fucking awesome. And proceeds to do something about it. But, ah, most of the plot is skipped in favour of the “and then they _got it on_ ” part.
> 
> (Also, it occurred to me as I wrote this, and thought back to other stuff I’ve written and read, that I have a virginity kink when it comes to porny fanfic. How did I not realise this before? Not ashamed though—it’s hot as fuck. Unapologetic virginity kink is unapologetic. Huzzah! *throws ~~confetti~~ _candy canes_ {cause Christmas}*)

Madara wasn’t _incapable_ of waiting. He knew there was more to sex and romance than instant gratification. He’d just… never had anyone worth waiting _for_.

Tobirama though? Tobirama who was so reserved, and had been so startled the first time he asked him out? (Well, the second—the first time he hadn’t even realised it was supposed to be a date, which Izuna had found hilarious when Madara later despaired.) Tobirama, who was surprisingly hesitant in romance as he was nowhere else (not on the battlefield, or in a lab, or at the administration tower, or teaching young ninja)? Tobirama, who was strong and brilliant and loyal and _gorgeous_ , and just everything he could ever want?

For Tobirama, Madara was more than willing to be patient. More than willing to take his time, to make Tobirama understand he was genuine, and this was no passing fancy or mere curiosity or shallow lust.

Tobirama was worth it.

Still… three months of dating was an _awful_ long time to wait for a kiss, even if it was tradition.

Well, tradition per arranged marriage guidelines.

Not that he was going to tell anyone that was the advice he was following! Izuna would laugh his ass off _again_ if he found out that Madara, who had never _wanted_ anyone for more than a single night, had been utterly clueless how to go about things with someone he actually desired to _keep_. He had his dignity as an older brother to think of… which was why, after Tobirama’s complete obliviousness on their supposed-to-be-a-first date, Madara had raided the clan archives of all places in search of advice rather than ask anyone.

He found the arranged marriage guidelines between some outdated maps and a half-burned jutsu scroll.

It was a dusty old thing that never got much use—the Uchiha as a clan were a passionate people who held love all but sacred, so arranged marriages were generally frowned upon. Only in the most desperate circumstances, when an arrangement was demanded as part of a vital political alliance, did they ever consent to such a match. The guidelines were built for those situations, in hopes of turning an unhappy necessity into a source of joy—slow courtship directions designed to spark interest, then respect, then attachment, then affection, and hopefully love.

He didn’t want to say that Tobirama, reserved and hesitant and cautious, was like an uncertain new bride in need of gentling, but… well, it seemed to be working. Watching him soften around Madara, start turning towards him, leaning into touches, even _smiling_ at him, was amazing. And Madara… maybe he liked the courting gestures too, felt closer to Tobirama than when they started out.

Still. _Three months_.

But finally, _finally_ , a kiss.

He made sure his intentions were clear, leaning in slowly, but still Tobirama froze when their mouths met. Hands cupping his face, Madara traced his thumbs back and forth across the red lines on his cheeks as he brushed their lips gently, over and over, until Tobirama exhaled shakily and leaned in, reciprocating the kiss. Madara hummed in approval and slid one hand down his spine, settling at the small of his back, holding him closer as he slanted his mouth, darting his tongue coaxingly over Tobirama’s lips and—

The kiss went from sweet to sultry in an instant.

With a shuddery moan, Tobirama all but melted into him, hands clutching Madara’s shoulders tight to keep himself upright as he opened his mouth and returned the kiss with passion. He was eager, and a little clumsy with it, but Madara found it charming. That he could reduce this self-possessed, usually graceful man to such a state just from wanting him was… it was both flattering and _really fucking hot_.

His arm tightened around Tobirama’s waist, almost holding him up, until he backed him into the wall instead, pressing them together from chest to knee. Hand freed, it wandered restlessly instead—up Tobirama’s arm, down his side, petting his thigh where he could reach. The hand still on his face traced the line down his chin to his throat, and Tobirama, always cautious, always on alert, didn’t tense the slightest bit at what from almost any other he’d see as a threat. No, he just tilted his head back in a gesture of trust that made Madara’s heart ache, and the moan Madara gave was maybe touched with a feral snarl as he carefully dragged teeth down that long pale skin and sucked a mark just where neck met shoulder while Tobirama _whimpered_.

“Stay the night?” Madara rasped out.

And then he froze.

Wait. Fuck. No, he didn’t mean that! That wasn’t how the arranged marriage guidelines said it should go. First kiss at three months, but sex was still a lamentably long way off. He was moving too fast. They still had yet to—

“ _Yes_ ,” Tobirama said against his lips.

Oh. Well.

Fuck the guidelines then.

They stumbled their way to the bedroom, kissing desperately, only drawing apart in brief yet too-long instances to tear off clothing piece by piece. Madara was pretty sure they knocked over an end table in their distraction. And yep, that was a vase shattering. (It was fine. It was a gift for the founding of Konoha, but it was ugly as sin—Elder Tsuru probably picked it for just that reason. The old crone was bitter about the peace, but loyal enough not to foment discord in the clan about it, just passive aggressively give hideous gifts he was obliged to display and pretend to like.)

They reached the bedroom and finally paused, drawing apart. And as Madara got his first look at his beloved naked before him in the gentle lanternlight… he felt an itch behind his eyes and quickly slammed them shut, wrapping both arms around Tobirama and clutching him close, burying his face in his hair as he tried to just breathe and not ruin this before it even started.

Control, he needed control.

…The way their bodies pressed together, bare skin to bare skin, _cock to cock_ , was _not_ helping

“Madara?” Tobirama said like he _knew_. And of course he did. Sensor. _Unparalleled_ sensor. Who could even sense the Sharingan activating. Not performing jutsu or anything, just _activating_.

Gods, he was _so_ impressive.

Also: shit, shit, shit, _fuck_.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Madara babbled, trying to regain some self-control. “Strong emotions sometimes—” He cut himself off before he admitted to Tobirama that accidental Sharingan activation, in these circumstances, was more generally the purview of hormone-addled teens.

This was embarrassing.

Izuna could _never know_.

“Just give me a moment,” he pleaded.

“It’s… okay,” Tobirama said, but his voice was stilted, so Madara wasn’t sure…

He glanced up carefully, eyes still embarrassingly Sharingan-bright, then paused. Because he knew that look. The ever-so-faint dusting of pink high on sharp cheekbones, the biting of the lower lip, the way his eyes were turned down and away… That was Tobirama’s shy look, which only ever made an appearance when he was flattered by genuine praise.

The first time Madara saw it, _he_ had blushed. Far less delicately too—more like a tomato really. But fuck, he hadn’t realised Tobirama and shy could go together, let alone so enchantingly. Madara had been a mess.

(Of course, then he’d pulled himself together and maybe experimented to see if he could elicit it again? And he _could_. It was amazing, he was gleeful—until he realised just _why_ Tobirama looked that way, that he was so rarely praised for anything. His clan had gotten so used to him being brilliant and talented and extraordinary that they simply took it for granted. It was _expected_ of him. And fuck that, no, Madara wouldn’t stand for it. So his compliments turned from genuine but aimed at causing a reaction, to genuine and aimed at making Tobirama understand how amazing Madara found him, how amazing he _was_. And it was working, Madara thought, because Tobirama blushed less easily now, praise no longer so foreign. Madara missed it, a bit, but it was worth it.)

Wait, that was his _flattered_ look. In response to Madara’s Sharingan activating. In response to Madara wanting to remember this, to remember Tobirama like this, naked and beautiful.

“Oh,” he said, breathless. “Are you sure?”

Tobirama darted a glance towards him, looking up through pale lashes. He met Madara’s gaze without flinching. And Madara would know—the Sharingan would see even the slightest hesitation—but there was nothing. Even after years and years of bloody war, of seeing Sharingan in the eyes of enemies across the battlefield, somehow Tobirama trusted Madara enough to look into eyes that he should have feared, should have hated, without even the barest trace of reluctance.

“I’m sure,” he said and stepped backwards, not to retreat, but to climb onto the bed, still looking through his lashes with unmistakable invitation.

“ _Oh_ ,” Madara said again, heart in his throat. He had never imagined he might be allowed to have this—to not only have Tobirama, but be allowed to _remember_ it, to burn the memory into his mind to cherish for the rest of his life. “ _Fuck I love you so much_ ,” he blurted out.

Startled, Tobirama smiled. That bright, helplessly happy smile that was even rarer than his shy blushes. And a thousand times more precious because _Madara_ had made him smile that way, had made him _happy_.

“I love _you_ ,” Tobirama returned. “Now stop keeping me waiting.”

And, well, what could he do but obey?

They knelt together in the middle of the bed, kissing and touching, learning one another. At some point Tobirama pushed Madara to sit back and crawled right into his lap. Madara was _far_ from complaining. Hips aligned and pressed together, and Tobirama made a faint, needy sound that sent what little blood wasn’t already there straight to Madara’s cock. He slid his hands down Tobirama’s back and gripped his arse eagerly—he had… maybe thought about doing that a time or two… or a hundred—tugging him closer, and Tobirama _whined_.

Fuck. He wanted to hear that again.

They set up a rhythm, and Madara thought maybe they’d come just like that—Tobirama in his lap, Madara’s hands on that amazing arse, rocking together with increasing desperation. But then Madara released one hand to trace teasingly down Tobirama’s crease, and the moment he rubbed a finger over the hole there, Tobirama jolted, sucking in a sharp breath.

Madara yanked his hand back at once. He settled it safely on Tobirama’s upper back, and then the other one for good measure, assurance that he wouldn’t do that again, babbling apologies all the while.

“Shit, sorry, I’m so sorry, should have asked, shouldn’t have just—”

A hand pressed over his mouth to cut off his words, but Tobirama wasn’t looking at him, and his stomach sank. Fuck, had he ruined this? He’d ruined it hadn’t he. The mood was killed. It was deader than dead. Gutted and immolated and buried six feet under.

Fuck.

He deactivated his Sharingan, hoping that would make Tobirama more comfortable. The other man darted a faintly surprised look at him—why surprised?—which quickly turned soft. The hand over Madara’s mouth moved to cup his face instead and Tobirama leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

Oh. Okay. Maybe he _hadn’t_ ruined everything?

Tobirama looked away again, but this time, calmer as Madara was, he recognised the gesture. The avoiding eye contact, the set of his jaw… That was his uncomfortable look. Not a worrisome sort of uncomfortable—that tended to include more tension in the shoulders, and hands twitching with the urge to form jutsu or reach for a sword—but the _awkward_ sort of uncomfortable.

“It’s fine,” Tobirama said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You just… surprised me.”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I won’t—”

“No!” Tobirama was meeting his gaze now, and red was spreading over the tips of his ears. He looked away, and back, and away again. “No, it’s fine, really. I, um, I would like you to do that again.”

Madara hesitated. “You flinched,” he pointed out.

“Surprised,” Tobirama grumbled, awkwardness melting away into annoyance, which was much easier on Madara’s heart. “Just…” He stared at the ceiling for a moment before heaving a sigh, ears fully red now. “New. It was… new. I’ve never… But I want to. So. Again. Please?”

It took a moment for it to sink in.

And then Madara pounced.

Tobirama made the most adorable squeaking sound of surprise as he fell back. He glared up at Madara from the pillow, as if _daring_ him to comment or do anything but pretend such an undignified noise had never escaped his throat, and Madara—

His Sharingan activated again, but Tobirama didn’t flinch. Because he really hadn’t ruined this. Because Tobirama had just been surprised, that’s all. Because it was new. Because he had—

“ _Never_?” he choked out.

Tobirama shook his head. “Never that. Never… um, _more_. Never even…” His fingers traced his own lips, swollen from Madara’s kisses, kisses Madara had thought clumsy merely from eagerness, and— “Not before you. Never wanted anyone else this way.”

Heat shot through Madara and he groaned, collapsing atop Tobirama and pressing his face into the crook of his neck.

“Madara?”

“Fuck.”

“I, well, I know this probably isn’t what you were expecting, but—”

“No! Fuck, that’s not— No.” He wasn’t going to fuck this up again, this time by making Tobirama feel self-consciously or— or deficient or some bullshit. He _wasn’t_. So Madara propped himself up on his elbows and threaded fingers in pale hair, clearing his throat. “That’s not… I’m not the slightest disappointed. Kinda the opposite. And. Um. I’m trying not to be too obvious about it so you don’t kill me for being a possessive boor?”

There was a pause, and then Tobirama’s lips twitched. He was _amused_ , Madara realised with relief. No, more than that. Eyes darting away, cheeks pink, and that lip biting wasn’t just trying to stifle a grin. He was— he was amused and _flattered_! By some twist of fortune, he _liked_ Madara’s possessive streak.

Gods above, how did he get so lucky?

Fingers threaded in Madara’s own hair and yanked him down for a laughing kiss, and he went willingly and with relief. (Catastrophe once more averted! And gods, catastrophes should not exist at all in this kind of situation, let alone in the plural. Why was he such a disaster of a human being only in the situations that mattered most?)

A hand yanked his hair harshly.

“Ouch!”

“Stop being distracted,” Tobirama complained, biting his lip sharply as added punishment. “You should only be focussed on me. I want you to… touch me again.”

He wanted Madara to… _touch_ him again?

Madara could do that. Madara _wanted_ to do that!

Reaching over to his bedside table, he opened a drawer and withdrew the oil he kept there for just such purposes. Sitting back on his heels, he knelt between Tobirama’s legs, smoothing hands up his thighs. He glanced up to make sure this was really okay, and Tobirama… Tobirama _licked his lips_. Madara almost surged up to kiss him again, but then his lover spread his legs apart in what could only be _blatant invitation_ , and Madara almost swallowed his tongue.

Okay, yeah, _touching_.

He reached for the oil, slicking his fingers, and slid two inside of Tobirama. Sharingan spun faster as he watched the way ruby eyes widened and a soft “Oh” escaped Tobirama’s lips as he felt what it was like to have fingers inside him for the first time. As _Madara’s_ fingers were the first to be inside him, to know him this way, and crook just right to make Tobirama gasp, back arching.

And fuck, yeah, the possessive thrill was not going to fade at all.

He braced a hand to one side of them as he leaned over to kiss Tobirama. His lover returned it, wet and needy, and still with that faint edge of clumsiness which, gods, was actually _inexperience_ , because _Madara was his first kiss_ , fuck. He was a quick learner though, in this as in everything, far more confident already and only growing more so. He mimicked Madara’s actions, then tried different things, repeating what worked and refining what didn’t. And maybe Madara should be offended that Tobirama was treating him like an experiment, but it was just so _Tobirama_ that all he could feel was adoration.

He pulled back as he added a third finger, wanting to watch, to _memorise_. A hungry sound emerged from his throat at the sight, and his gaze swept greedily back up the long lean body, catching on the mark left on Tobirama’s throat. The colour showed up magnificently on his pale skin, and Madara couldn’t resist leaning down, setting his mouth to it, and sucking till red turned to purple. Tobirama’s fingers tangled in his hair, holding him there, and he gave a faint, disappointed sound when Madara drew back to admire his work.

…He really _did_ like Madara’s possessive streak, didn’t he?

Maybe… maybe he’d let Madara dress him in his clothes, in his clan emblem? Not in public, that would be inappropriate until they were wed— _unless_ they wed, he corrected, not wanting to take it for granted even if it was _absolutely_ his ultimate intention—but perhaps here, in the privacy of his home? He imagined it, imagined Tobirama curled up on his couch in one of Madara’s shirts, two sizes too big so it would fall off one shoulder, Uchiha fan emblazoned on the back.

Madara shuddered. Fuck, he was going to make that happen. He _was_.

Tobirama made a needy sound as his hips angled down, riding Madara’s fingers. He was so gorgeous like this. Madara’s free hand swept over his body, fingers tracing his lips, groaning as a tongue darted out and Tobirama shot him a look through his lashes—he knew _exactly_ what he was doing, the minx—before reluctantly pulling them away to trace down his throat—once more tipped back so trustingly—circling the love bite, then dragged down his chest, around his belly button, scratching through pale hair at the base of Tobirama’s pretty cock, which was hard and leaking.

Tobirama whimpered in complaint when he didn’t touch him there, trailing his hand back up instead. And then he whimpered for another reason entirely when Madara rubbed over his nipples. Tobirama’s back _arched_ and his breath caught, and— oh, he was sensitive there apparently. Smirking, Madara leaned down. He licked at a nipple, then sucked on it, thrilling at the desperate tone Tobirama’s voice took on, the way he wrapped his legs around Madara’s waist and locked his ankles so he had better leverage to _drag_ himself down onto Madara’s fingers.

“M-Madara, _please_ ,” he begged—demanded really—in a strained tone.

Madara wanted nothing more than to slide inside him, wanted Tobirama fucking himself on his cock rather than just his fingers. He considered it, but— but Madara wasn’t exactly a _small_ man—not overlong, but thick—and the last thing he wanted was to hurt Tobirama, not ever, and especially not knowing he had the honour of being his first.

He wanted this to be perfect for his lover.

“Soon,” he promised, pressing a gentle kiss to the peaked nipple as he reluctantly untangled the legs around him so he could draw back. “I just need to…” He gathered a bit more oil and then watched again, _memorised again_ , the way it looked as he pushed another finger into Tobirama. Four now, and his hole was stretched well and truly wide, pink and smooth-edged and glistening from the oil.

And so tight. So _fucking_ tight that Madara worried, a little.

Maybe, he thought, watching the way Tobirama shoved down, _keening_ — maybe this was enough for tonight. Maybe he could just make Tobirama come like this, on his fingers, and then Madara could… well, he had a perfectly serviceable right hand. And it would be easy, he knew. _So_ easy, with these memories freshly burned into his mind, and the sight of Tobirama splayed and sated before him.

Fuck. Okay, yes. That was… that was the plan. A good plan. The _best_ plan. Good job, him.

He braced a hand by their side once more, for a better view of both his other hand and Tobirama’s face as he began to work his fingers in and out, faster and faster, with greedy intent. Tobirama’s cries grew louder and more desperate, twisting and writhing in the sheets, back arched and head tossed back, and when he came—

When he came, it was with _Madara’s name_ on his lips, and nothing had _ever_ been more perfect.

“M’d’ra,” Tobirama slurred, over and over again like a chant, eyes dazed and body going limp as he slowly came down from the high, twitching and gasping softly every so often as Madara lazily flexed the fingers still inside him. “M’d’ra, M’d’ra, love, good, M’d’ra.”

Madara didn’t realise he was shaking till he leaned down to kiss Tobirama, achingly gentle, and Tobirama made a soft, soothing sound, weakly lifting his hands to pet Madara’s face and his hair and his shoulders.

“I love you,” Madara said, hoarse with emotion, and Tobirama smiled sweetly, an expression he had never seen before and immediately treasured, hoarded, Sharingan spinning faster.

“Love,” Tobirama sighed in agreement.

Madara kissed him again, just as gently, then drew back. Taking in the sight before him, his breath caught, because his imagination had had nothing on the _reality_ of Tobirama splayed and sated. His hand reached for his cock, knowing he wouldn’t last long and—

Tobirama made a soft, objecting sound. “Don’t.”

“Sweetheart?” Madara’s strokes slowed. Was… was Tobirama not okay with this? He hadn’t considered, but maybe he felt objectified? Madara didn’t want that. He—

“Inside,” Tobirama said softly, entreatingly, reaching a hand to brush fingers over Madara’s cock, making him suck in a sharp breath. “Want you. Please?”

“Fuck,” Madara breathed. He wanted that. _So much_. But… “Are you sure? I don’t want— You’re not too sensitive?”

In response, Tobirama wrapped his long, lovely legs around Madara’s waist and tried to tug him closer.

Okay. Fuck. This was happening.

Madara resisted the pull long enough to reach for the oil and make sure his cock was well and truly slick—there would be _no pain_ here—before giving in. Propping himself up on one hand, he guided his cock to where he wanted it and _pushed_ , watching the hole stretch to fit him with something a bit like awe tangled with tearing need and fierce possessiveness. The head slipped in, and Madara set his other hand down, bracing himself above his lover and watching his expression, ready to stop at the slightest hint of discomfort. Tobirama felt— he felt so fucking amazing, wet and warm and tight and _his_. Madara bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, determined not to lose control, to be as careful and gentle as he knew how. He pushed in slowly, so slowly, millimetre by millimetre, and Tobirama—

Tobirama just lay there, still lost in the haze of afterglow. There was no discomfort, he didn’t tense once, just sighed softly, eyes lidded with pleasure and— and _love_. He was sweet and pliant in a way Madara had never seen him, never _imagined_ he could be, and Madara— Madara loved Tobirama’s strength, his confidence, his drive. But there was something about seeing him like this that made him ache in all the best ways, and he didn’t quite understand…

“Mad’ra,” Tobirama sighed, utterly content, when Madara finally seated himself fully. He smiled that sweet smile again, and suddenly Madara _got_ it.

It was the trust.

Tobirama, with his reserved demeanour and his emotional walls miles high, was soft and sweet and _trusting_ under him, and that was… He swallowed hard and leaned down to press a kiss to smiling lips, unaccountably chaste given he was buried hilt deep.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped. “Love you so much.”

Tobirama blinked, some of the hazy afterglow fading from his eyes. He hummed and wrapped his arms around Madara, opening his mouth for a hotter kiss. And then he _clenched down_. Madara hissed, hips jerking, and Tobirama gave an “Ah” sound that Madara swore made his cock harden further, which he hadn’t thought possible.

“Fuck,” he said, forehead pressed to Tobirama’s collarbone, and the man under him laughed breathlessly. “Gods, you’ll kill me.”

“Only a _little_ death,” Tobirama teased, then cried out again as Madara flexed his hips. “Oh. _Again_.”

And Madara did. He started small, little rocking motions more than anything, but gradually pulled out further each time until he was fucking in earnest, cock sliding in and out. Tobirama’s body twisted to meet each thrust, and he tugged Madara close with desperate hands, demanding ardent, open-mouthed kisses that delivered his moans straight to Madara’s mouth, and the _look on his face_ …

“Madara, Madara, I need, _please_.”

And gods above, but Madara could deny him nothing, not like this. Groaning, feeling his own peak approach, he reached between them to grasp Tobirama’s cock. It was hard again, hard for _Madara_ again, and he jolted when Madara squeezed it and began working him as frantically as his pleas.

They came like that, Tobirama on a sob, clutching Madara close. Madara followed bare moments after, pressing deep and groaning, face buried into the crook of Tobirama’s neck as the world broke apart and rewrote itself with Tobirama at the centre of it, trembling underneath him.

His lover was still shaking long minutes later when he finally drew back—fine tremors in his thighs and his hands where they reached up to trace Madara’s face like it was dear, like it was loved, like it was _precious_. Madara nuzzled into the caresses, pressed a soft kiss to a callused palm, then leaned down to press another to Tobirama’s mouth.

“Hmm,” Tobirama hummed when they finally drew apart.

“Good ‘hmm’?” Madara asked, voice rough.

“ _Hmm_ ,” Tobirama said, all satisfaction, and darted a smug look from behind his lashes.

Madara laughed and kissed him again. And then another time in response to the soft, disappointed sound Tobirama made when Madara’s cock slipped free. Unwilling to go far, Madara leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed the nearest bit of cloth he could find—his discarded pants, it turned out—to clean themselves with.

They curled together afterwards as they drifted off, limbs as intertwined as their hearts were. Madara’s last thought before sleep claimed him was that he was glad he hadn’t grabbed his shirt instead—he wanted to see if he could coax Tobirama into wearing it tomorrow morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Thinking of changing the story summary to…
>
>> Three months of dating was an awful long time to wait for a first kiss.
>> 
>> It shouldn’t have been a surprise that it went from sweet to sultry in an instant.
> 
> Thoughts?


End file.
